Sweetest Secret
by itsfaberrytaboo
Summary: Sansa's been stood up for blind dates before, so the surprise isn't when Loras Tyrell doesn't show up - it's when his sister does. Modern AU, D/s undertones. One-shot, may develop into a series if there's interest. Written for the new r/girlslash community on reddit. (You should join.)
1. Sweetest Secret

She had very strategically chosen a seat in one of the booths by a window of the restaurant, but watching the snow fall outside had done little to quell Sansa's nerves. She occupied herself by arranging the fabric of her pea coat for the hundredth time, smoothing the grey fabric around her waist and trailing errant, anxious fingers through her red hair. She should take the coat off, she thought; the air in the restaurant was stifling, but keeping her coat on would make a quick getaway easier.

She'd told Shae this was a bad idea, but for some reason her friend insisted that Sansa needed to get out of her dorm room and away from her books, and apparently a blind date was the best way to do it?

Well, at least Shae had let her bring one of her books with her. The least she could do if she got stood up – again – was work on her medieval history homework.

Above her, someone cleared her throat and Sansa fairly jumped five feet in the air, nearly knocking over her cup of water and only just righting it before settling her gaze on the woman standing above her.

A peach rose was in her hand; she held it out to Sansa with dimples creasing her cheeks.

"I-I… you must have the wrong table?" A waiter was coming over and Sansa quickly shooed him away with a shake of her head.

The other woman raised an eyebrow at her. "Is your name Sansa Stark?"

_Damn._

She nodded.

"Then I have the absolutely correct table." She was still holding out the rose. "I'm Loras Tyrell."

"Loras isn't a girl's name…"

"Have you ever met anyone named Loras?"

"… Well, no."

She finally took the rose that was offered to her, her cheeks now matching in shade to the slight red blush that spread over the rose's peach petals. A pair of blue eyes twinkled at her over the flower; the older woman – she was obviously older, not one of the twenty-two year old giggling girls Sansa was used to – gestured toward the seat across from Sansa.

"May I?"

She was dressed in a suit. A dark navy pin-striped suit with dangly earrings, brunette hair held back from her face with clips and radiating curls down her shoulders. She took in Sansa as she sat in response to the other girl's nod, and Sansa felt painfully underdressed, even as she finally unbuttoned her coat and slid it off to reveal the deep purple shirt and jeans she wore underneath. It had taken her two hours just to decide on her clothes.

And another hour to decide to get on the bus to come to the restaurant.

"Loras—"

"Margaery."

"I beg pardon?" Sansa blinked, and the girl sitting across from her smiled, apologetically.

"I am Margaery Tyrell. Loras is my brother."

"Who is not here," Sansa said, feeling the discouragement keenly. It was all a chore, this getting out and meeting people, but for the shortest amount of time the prospect had been… inviting.

"Who is not here," the sister-of-her-not-blind-date said, regret still in her voice. "I love him dearly, but he can be a stupid one."

"It's a-all right," Sansa hastened to say, looking down at her coat. "This has happened before, it's probably for the best, and I'm not terribly interesting as it is…"

"People have stood you up before?" Margaery said, tilting her head at Sansa. "Well, their loss, I should say, and my brother's as well, even if, as beautiful as you are, he's not one bit interested."

Sansa's head was spinning. Who was this woman, why was she here instead of her brother – had she just called Sansa beautiful? – What on earth was going on? She needed to get back to her dorm. Homework.

She reached for her book and her coat.

"Not one bit interested."

"Although that's not Loras's fault either, if I might take up for him just this once. Poor boy, I don't know why he didn't turn down Shae when she suggested it, but I guess he doesn't want her to know, for some reason."

"Know?" Sansa was searching for her dorm key, but looked up in spite of herself.

"Hmm." Margaery steepled her fingers under her chin and regarded Sansa. "My brother sent me here," she said, "Something I wouldn't normally do except for the fact that he was so embarrassed and distressed."

Sansa shrugged. "It isn't a big deal. Like I said, it's happened before."

"Men can be stupid," Margaery said, a smile dancing across her lips again. "I can't forgive them for being so stupid not to see what's in front of me, but I do hope you can forgive my brother for, well…"

"Well?" Sansa prompted, once more flustered by what seemed to be a compliment from this complete stranger.

"How shall I put this?" Margaery mused, as she suddenly stretched out in the booth, her back up against the wall and her legs draped over the seat. She looked over her shoulder at Sansa.

"My brother may not wear all of the colors of the rainbow, but he very proudly waves the flag… in secret."

"Wait, he wha- _oh_. Oh." The realization dawned on Sansa, a realization that somehow made her blush even further.

"He wanted to send Renly at first, but I told him he'd make an even bigger mess of things than Loras already had."

"Renly…"

"His boyfriend."

"Ah."

Margaery hummed again; this time when the waiter came to the table, Sansa didn't wave him away. He stood expectantly.

"I… should probably go?"

"If you wish," Margaery said with a shrug. "This whole thing is unorthodox and I understand if you're angry. I think I'll stay though; Loras was so ridiculously distraught I came straight here without dinner." She took the menu the waiter promptly handed her, and began to thumb through it.

"Though I haven't the slightest idea what's good here."

"The lemon cakes," Sansa blurted out, then quieted. "I-I mean… they're quite good for dessert. And I like, well…" She reached out and tapped one of the selections on the menu.

Margaery tipped her head in pleased agreement, then looked at Sansa. "Well then, one order of this, or… shall we make it two and you allow me to treat you to lemon cakes after, in apology for my brother's ridiculousness?"

It wouldn't take much of an effort for her just to get up and leave. Her dorm key was in her hand, her coat and book at her side, and… Sansa rested her key on the table.

"I'd never say no to the cakes, but you don't need to apologize. I understand."

Margaery smiled, widely in a way that made her eyes glint with merriment, and Sansa couldn't help but laugh when she said, "Perhaps we can make a real go at this then, and I'll be the dashing boy Loras on a blind date with the surprisingly lovely Sansa Stark."

Sansa shook her head. "Do people ever really tell the truth on these things?" she wondered aloud to herself, not really caring that Margaery heard. It was such a bizarre ritual; two people meeting together to try to impress each other, to show off their potential at being a good mate – or, at least, a good _bed_ mate. A million questions and at the end of the hour or two, did you really know any more about each other than you had when you'd said hello?

"I promise to tell you the truth if you do." She looked at Margaery, who had extended her hand.

"Hello, my name is Margaery Tyrell."

Sansa grinned a little, and took Margaery's hand. "I'm Sansa Stark."

The words ended in a squeak when Margaery turned the hand held in hers, and lightly kissed the knuckles.

"A lady should always be properly greeted, don't you think?" Margaery said, and Sansa blushed.

"I'm not a lady."

A college student on scholarship. Her family poor but happy, yet still out of place in this world of wealth.

"Oh, I am."

And Sansa knew that Margaery was telling the truth. The very way she carried herself, the clothing she wore, the smoothness of her skin… everything told Sansa that Margaery Tyrell was every inch a lady.

"What do you do?" she asked suddenly, and cringed at the lameness of her own question.

But if Margaery was insulted she didn't betray it, her blue eyes twinkling over the candlelight in King's Landing's finest restaurant.

"Politics," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if _that_ were the most boring thing in the world instead of the conversation she was having with KLU's most awkward student. "Right now I assist my grandmother with her council on foreign relations."

"Grandmother…." A wave of familiarity niggled her brain, and Sansa gasped with the realization. "You're Olenna Tyrell's granddaughter!"

Margaery Tyrell. Granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell. The _prime minister_.

Oh, Dany was going to love hearing about this one.

And suddenly Sansa was dowdy in her purple shirt and jeans, cheeks as aflame as her hair. She'd have been on a blind date with the _grandson_ of the prime minister, a boy probably used to the highest fashions and decorum, and she'd have been… dressed like _this_.

Somehow, the idea that she was in front of Margaery now made it even worse. Sansa looked at the plates of dinner the waiter had just brought, and wanted to retch. Echoes of past words played in her head at a cruel staccato, words she thought she'd buried in the last year, but maybe… maybe not.

"Well, this looks good enough to eat!" Margaery said, seeming oblivious to Sansa's discomfort. "I'd say this is the second most beautiful thing I've seen all evening."

"What's the first?" Sansa asked dumbly.

Margaery just looked at her, a crooked smile lifting the corner of one cheek.

Oh.

The words quieted, and Sansa picked up her fork.

"So what do you—"

"Student," Sansa interrupted, then blushed furiously. "I-I mean I'm a… student at KLU."

"Ooh!" Margaery said, leaning forward over her plate a little, eyes fastened on Sansa. "And what do you study?"

"Literature," Sansa said, a smile finally crossing over her face as she warmed to one of her favorite subjects to chat about. "Mostly the classic Brits, Jane and Charles and the like." They were family almost, in the way that she could use their first names. They had been brothers and sisters, sometimes a mother or father when things at home hadn't gone perfectly. Her closest companions, her best of friends.

Margaery nodded through her bite of pasta. "I do love a good Jane." She winked at Sansa conspiratorially.

"Though I've often wished that Lizzie ended up with the other Darcy."

"Other Darcy…?"

"Georgiana." Margaery smirked. "Is that wrong of me?"

Sansa, mouth gone dry, only just shook her head.

She'd not had any wine – in the last year, wine had lost its savor, and Sansa was content to do without. But she felt like she was drunk, her head spinning with thoughts of Tyrell and prime minister and Georgiana and _Margaery_.

Just who was this girl, she wondered, who was so free with herself in the languid way that she kept her body draped in the booth as she ate, small and calculated yet completely at ease movements of hand to fork to mouth? She was tired, Sansa could tell that in the subtle droop to Margaery's eyelids, and the abrupt realization that she was staring full-on at the other girl was tempered by the quick pang of worry that sunk through her.

Somehow they drifted into easy conversation then, Sansa babbling on about her books and her romance, even if she'd long stopped believing Pride and Prejudice was real. Margaery had smiled at her in a way that was indulgent but not patronizing; Sansa knew she was naïve in more ways than one but Margaery didn't seem determined to make her feel stupid for it. Her soft, interested questions coaxed more answers out of Sansa than she would have ever dreamed of giving… well, him, but he'd never been interested anyway.

It was a quick call and return of what Sansa assumed was the usual blind date ritual; she steadily found herself learning more of the Tyrells and their relationship with the famous grandmother. Of summers in a town called Highgarden, which, Sansa found herself confessing, sounded much more inviting than her own hometown of Winterfell, as much as she loved it.

"You'll come visit sometime," Margaery announced, with all the assuredness of a young lady (twenty five to Sansa's twenty one, they'd learned) used to getting what she wanted, and Sansa stared at her open-mouthed even as her mind began to whirl with ideas of "what if?"

They talked of Sansa's family, of the large Stark brood with strong Ned and loving Catelyn at the top, of Arya and her endless need for adventure, Bran and his chair. Margaery's face had softened as she listened to Sansa describe the accident; her free hand had ventured across the table and touched Sansa's fingers.

It burned, tingling up her arm to her shoulders, and Sansa wished for wine.

The dogs, Robb, her parents, she chattered on endlessly about them, probably revealing more than she intended of how much she had taken them for granted and how much she missed them when she was away at school. She longed for the holidays, the house decorated in the colors of Christmas, spices and tea wafting to her nose and listening to Arya and Bran argue over who was going to play which video game when. She missed Rickon's messy kisses, missed Lady's warmth in the mornings when she woke up to the dog flopped next to her in bed. She missed… family.

And in turn Margaery regaled her with tales of her grandmother and her brother and her family, of being called "pig face" by a cranky cousin, and Sansa's mouth dropped open as if she was personally affronted by the insult to the older girl sitting across from her. She'd rejected a fork for her fingers as Margaery attacked the lemon cakes with fervor, and Sansa couldn't help but grin a little and push her own fork to the side.

There are grand parties at Highgarden, celebrities and politicians alike, and Margaery told of when she and Loras were too small to do anything but sit on the steps and watch when they were meant to be in bed. It's clear, Sansa thinks, the rivalry and love the two siblings have for each other, and she actually is for a moment disappointed that she didn't meet Loras that evening.

But Margaery was eating cakes and looking at her with that same crooked smile, her suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal a blue – was that argyle? – top, and the slightest hint of lace bra. Sansa swallowed hard and focused on her dessert.

"Well, we've gotten to know quite a lot about each other, haven't we?" Margaery said merrily, and Sansa nodded with a smile. "I feel as if I've known you forever, and we've only sat here for…" She glanced at her watch, her eyes widening.

"Two and a half hours."

Sansa gaped, her shock giving way to girlish giggles. "I can't believe it!"

"Nor can I," Margaery said, sounding suddenly regretful. "Because I still have things to do before I can close out my evening, which means I need to go."

"Oh." She gestured for the check, which was summarily yanked out of her hand by Margaery, who sat it on the table with a slim gold card covering it.

"You only said dessert…" she faltered, even though she knew the bill would be more than she allowed herself to spend for three months.

"So I did," Margaery mused. "Oh well. I shall let you pick up dessert next time."

Next time? Sansa stared at her with wide eyes.

And then Margaery was scrawling her name and a number on a cloth restaurant napkin in a fine black hand, folding it and placing it into one of Sansa's. She didn't answer, merely stood up and pocketed her card after the waiter had returned with her receipt, and waited for Sansa to rise.

Which she did, numbly, tucking her coat around her and following Margaery outside into the cool air of evening; Margaery shivered and once again there was that pang of worry. The suit didn't look warm enough. But hopefully she didn't have far to travel.

"What do we do now?" Sansa asked. She'd never been on a blind date before, and had barely navigated the date itself. Like a maze when you didn't know what the prize was at the end.

"Hmm." Margaery smiled and hooked her arm through Sansa's suddenly. "Now I think we become good friends."

"Oh. That… that would make me very happy."

"I do think we ought to end it with a bang, though."

"What?" Sansa burst out, her eyes widening. She'd never been with anyone before, not even… not even _Joffrey_, despite his numerous attempts, and now… now she was expected to hop into bed with a _woman_ that she had only just met?

Margaery looked at her, confused, before it hit her, and she tilted her head back and laughed, leaving Sansa a little hurt even at the musicality of it. "Oh, sweet girl, I didn't mean a your place or mine kind of thing."

"Oh," Sansa said. "I'm an idiot."

"No you're not." Margaery squeezed her arm and Sansa thought that her eyes seemed to be two sparkling stars in a night sky of dull ones.

"I only meant that now we've traversed this road of 'getting to know you' together, we ought to get down to the real truth of it all. Secrets, just between us girls. Something that no one else knows."

Rather like a game of "never have I ever," Sansa thought, and she shrugged. "I don't know what _you'd_ like to know."

"Well," Margaery drew the word out to a delicious length, and somehow, Sansa shivered. "First and foremost on my mind, I suppose, would be… Sansa Stark, do you have a preference for the fairer sex?"

Sansa blinked.

"Do you like girls?"

"I-I don't know," she stammered, and would have moved to pull her arm away if Margaery hadn't been holding fast.

They were walking towards the bus station, she realized. It would take her back to her dorm at KLU.

Had Margaery driven to the restaurant? Walked? If she had a car, what would it look like? Sansa tried to imagine herself sitting in the passenger seat, with Margaery at her side, the wind in Margaery's hair from the open window and Margaery's hand on her—

"Have you had boyfriends?"

Sansa's jaw tightened. "One," she said, and felt humiliated when the tears threatened to overwhelm her and her voice cracked. "And that is all I wish to say about that."

"Ah." Margaery's hand had slipped down her arm to grasp Sansa's fingers in hers. It should feel strange, she thought, but Margaery's hand was small and dainty in spite of the girl's attitude. And yet, though Sansa's own hand dwarfed Margaery's, she felt so indescribably… insignificant and important all at once, as they walked hand in hand down an empty sidewalk to the station.

"Some girls like men," Margaery was saying. "Bald, hairy, ugly, pretty." She flashed a smile at Sansa. "And some women like pretty girls."

Sansa thought about the rose that was held in her other hand.

They walked along in silence for a while, until once again Margaery broke into Sansa's thoughts. "You haven't asked me any of my secrets."

Sansa smiled a little. "It would've been rude."

Margaery snorted. "What are secrets between friends?" She tossed her brunette curls and gave Sansa a wink. "Go on. Ask me anything."

Sansa considered this for a moment, then suddenly blurted out a question that had her turning as red as her hair to the tips of her ears.

"Favorite sexual fantasy?"

She was mortified. She was mortified and Margaery was looking at her with her mouth open in a slight "o" and Sansa wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

"Well we've jumped right to the heart of the matter, haven't we?"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean to, I—"

"Don't look so terrified, sweetling, it was only a question," Margaery said, the softness in her voice instantly putting Sansa back at ease. At least a little.

"I think," Margaery said, her brow furrowed as if she was in deep thought, "I think perhaps my very favorite fantasy has been…" She glanced at Sansa.

"To have a pretty girl on her knees for me."

She didn't need the coat anymore; it was just too damn hot outside, and Sansa unbuttoned the collar.

"You've had… relationships before then."

Relationships. Sansa sighed inwardly.

"I have."

"Girls?"

"Girls."

"And boys?"

"And boys."

"And have…" Sansa reached for the words, fumbling with the flower in her other hand. "Have any of them been on their knees for you?"

"No," Margaery said, tsking her tongue lightly. "Pity, too. Though I suppose maybe it's a blessing of the gods that I haven't found someone worthy of kneeling for me."

"A blessing?"

"A secret's only a secret if you don't go sharing it with other people all the time," Margaery explained, and Sansa had the distinct idea that Margaery was talking about much more than Sansa's question. "It cheapens it, the more people you tell. If you can find that one person to share your deepest secret with, well, it makes it that much more sweet, don't you think?"

Sansa nodded, then.

"What's yours?"

"Mine?"

Margaery bumped her shoulder. "Your deepest sexual fantasy."

"Oh, well, I-I-" she stopped, flustered, to the point that she even stopped walking and looked down at her feet.

She took a deep breath.

"To be a pretty gi—"

"You _are_ a pretty girl, Sansa Stark," Margaery Tyrell said, tugging lightly so that Sansa resumed walking with her.

"Thank you."

It was all too soon and they were at Sansa's stop, the bus still minutes away. No one else was there and so she and Margaery stood under the lamplight, Margaery looking up at her and Sansa looking down at her feet, which shuffled awkwardly against the pavement.

"All in all I think it's been a rather success—"

"Did you get enough to—"

They broke off, laughing as they shared shy smiles.

"Did you get enough to eat?" Sansa asked, still taking in Margaery's drooping eyes and the tired lift to the corner of her mouth as she nodded. "I hate that you came straight to the restaurant without taking care of yourself first."

"Which is terribly sweet of you, dear, but I assure you, I'm fine. Another hour or two with my papers at home, and then I shall be blissfully unaware of today's happenings."

Margaery hesitated, then met Sansa's eyes. "Well, most of today's happenings. I rather think some of it will stay with me for a good while, as well as my hopes for… a repeat?"

"A repeat?"

Margaery squeezed Sansa's hand. "Coffee," she said carefully. "Or tea, or another restaurant. Or just… a stroll in the park, whatever you would like."

And then Sansa understood what Margaery was asking her for. She hadn't expected it; most blind dates ended in discomfort or disaster. Certainly not in requests for a second date.

"Is that why I have a napkin with your name and number on it?" she found the courage to tease, lightly, and was rewarded when under the harsh white light she could see Margaery blush.

"Perhaps. Will you use it?"

Sansa smiled, feeling suddenly girlish and seventeen again. "Once, so that you'll know my own number," she said, and then tilted her head at Margaery.

"And then again, later this week, perhaps… Wednesday? I have tests so I won't be able to do anything until th—"

"Shh." Margaery's finger on her lips tasted like rosewater. "Wednesday, after six?"

Sansa felt disappointed when Margaery's finger vanished. "Wednesday, after six."

She could feel the rumble of the bus on the street, each turn of the wheel and vibration of the road beating a thin time with the only word currently running through her head.

_Margaery._

_Margaery._

Margaery was looking up at her, shades of an endearing smile on her face as she said, "Well, shall we end this the usual way?"

She held out her hand.

"You didn't let me finish," Sansa said, the truth bursting out of her as if it had been there, all this time, waiting.

"Finish?" Margaery cocked her head. "There wasn't any lemon cake left."

Sansa laughed. "No, you didn't let me finish what I was going to say, earlier."

"I'm thoroughly confused by what you mean, but I'd be really angry at myself if I missed even one word of anything you say, Sansa Stark, so do continue."

Emboldened by Margaery's response, Sansa's voice still nevertheless faltered.

"I want to be a pretty girl… on my knees."

_For you_. Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to add that. Not just yet.

In the steam and rumble and gas of the bus that came careening towards them, Margaery Tyrell's blush deepened.

"It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other," she said.

Sansa took her hand and turned it in hers.

End this the usual way.

"A lady should always have a proper goodbye, don't you think?" Sansa asked, and moved to kiss Margaery's hand.

But then Margaery tipped herself up on her toes and it was so cute that Sansa bent herself down to meet halfway, and when their lips touched, King's Landing exploded away.

Pasta and lemon lingered on Margaery, mixed with the spice of her lipgloss and her breath barely held against Sansa's mouth. Her hand moved to clutch at the side of Sansa's coat, and when they pulled away, neither of them could contain their smiles.

"Wednesday after six?"

"Wednesday after six."

"Hey, Loras?" Sansa called from the steps of the bus, causing the other woman to turn around and look at her with amusement.

Sansa grinned. "Thank you for the date. I had a lovely time."


	2. Wash It Away

"Grandmother, I have to _go_."

"What's so important that you have to leave me in this most dire of times, Margaery Tyrell?"

She shot her grandmother a withering look, and Olenna chuckled.

"It's the girl, isn't it?"

The smile won over the yawn, and Margaery blushed.

"I promised her I'd take her dancing after we were finished here. I'm already late, and she's already at my flat."

"At your flat, flat on her back?"

"Grandmother!"

"Oh don't be so twitchy. If I have to be the grandmother of _two_ homosexuals, you can be damned sure I plan to make it as embarrassing for you and your brother, and fun for me, as possible."

Bisexual, Margaery wanted to point out, but didn't. Nor did she point out that she and Sansa had only been officially "together-together" (and Sansa had even did the air quotes, which Margaery had thought was adorable) for three months, and neither of them had taken the other to bed yet. It wasn't from lack of want, on Margaery's part; she was a woman and knew what she wanted, and what it would take to please her.

But, strangely enough, what was pleasing to Margaery about Sansa was the soft shy way she smiled at her. The way Sansa would let Margaery tuck a stray hair over her ear, or constantly hold her hand, or how Sansa would manage to somehow always let her head rest on Margaery's shoulder. Their second date had been to the movies, some romantic comedy that Sansa had picked, but that had proven so boring even to her that she'd fallen asleep with her arm thrown over Margaery's stomach as they cuddled in the back of the darkened theater. In the glow of the moving pictures Sansa had seemed so peaceful, so comfortable… So it had been three months of no sex, but it had also been three months of quiet talk over dinner, walks in the park and one or two to the museum, and of making Sansa Stark smile.

As tired as she was, Margaery was determined to keep that up.

"Go on then," Prime Minister Olenna Tyrell said, waving a dismissive hand at her granddaughter. "Leave an elderly woman all alone to control a country in turmoil, while you gallivant off with a girl."

Margaery rolled her eyes; she leaned down to kiss her grandmother's cheek. The prime minister's eyes were twinkling.

"The country couldn't be in safer hands, Grandmother," she said affectionately.

"No thanks to you," Olenna said gruffly, but she returned her granddaughter's kiss.

"Get some rest, you look tired."

She was tired. Exhausted, and utterly _not_ looking forward to going out dancing. Oh, she was looking forward to being with Sansa; maybe the girl would wear one of those high-cut skirts that Margaery had seen hanging in her closet, the one time Sansa had felt comfortable enough to show Margaery her dorm room.

It had been small, Sansa's side decorated with pictures of her gigantic family, and the dogs – "_Wolves_," Margaery had said – they kept as pets. On the other side, Dany's wall was filled with drawings of dragons.

They'd stood outside of Sansa's dorm, and Sansa had kissed her so sweetly and shyly that Margaery forgot everything else.

It was those kisses, that shyness, that made Margaery swipe a hand over her eyes as she navigated towards home, turning the radio up and blasting the air conditioning in an effort to wake herself up for the night's events. Sansa wanted to go dancing, and by the gods, Margaery was already a little alarmed at how difficult it was to deny that girl anything.

The weariness was settling in her bones, though, as it often did on nights like this, nights when Margaery was sharply reminded of her family's goals and how she was intended to make them her own. Years ago when she was a little "pig faced" girl she might have dreamed of art or music, but now she'd willingly traded them for law and intrigue. Long nights of helping her grandmother broker deals until finally even the seemingly limitless Olenna would decide Margaery had had enough, and she'd be allowed to slip away to her own bed.

Before Sansa, Margaery had been more inclined just to fall asleep on a couch in Number 10. But now there were cheerful texts and breathless phone conversations, little picnics and dates to the movies. Events that made her grandmother's lips curl with concern, but only made Margaery grin.

Even as she yawned.

Her keys jingled in the lock as Margaery finally opened the door to her flat and stepped inside. She expected to find Sansa sitting on the couch impatiently, or running around putting the finishing touches to her makeup, but the girl was nowhere to be found in Margaery's illuminated living room. Grandmother thought it was weird that Sansa already had a key so early on, but Margaery had just shrugged and said that she didn't think Sansa was the type to try to find out any state secrets.

"Sansa?"

Every light in the flat was off except for the living room and the dining room, and strange noises seemed to be coming from… the kitchen? And when had her place suddenly turned into an Italian restaurant? Margaery sniffed.

That was definitely garlic bread, she thought, and her stomach rumbled. And something else…

"There you are," she heard, and turned back into the direction of the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she saw Sansa, dressed not in a short skirt, but in a simple pair of (tight fitting nonetheless) jeans and a white tee shirt. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and a kitchen towel splattered with what looked like red sauce was draped across one shoulder.

"You're not properly dressed," Margaery said, still feasting on Sansa with her eyes. She didn't think she'd ever get enough of just looking at her.

"Not properly dressed for spaghetti?" Sansa's tone was light, teasing, but Margaery could see the hesitant way she was biting her lip.

"Spaghetti?"

Sansa nodded and crossed the floor in a few small steps, finally stopping in front of Margaery and touching her cheek with her hand. She kissed her, softly, and Margaery felt a little of her weariness dripping away.

Still, "You look tired," Sansa said, ignoring Margaery's whine when she pulled back. "I knew you would be, when you texted to say you were going to be 'a little late.'"

Margaery waved it away. "I'll be fine," she said, stifling a yawn with a smile. Sansa looked at her knowingly. "Really, truly," Margaery insisted. "Give me a song or two and I'll be whirling you around the dance floor."

Sansa shook her head. "Or," she suggested, "You can go to your room, change into something more comfortable, and let me serve the dinner I made for us. And, after that, maybe a movie. Snuggling, if you like."

Margaery stared at her.

"I knew you would be tired," Sansa hurried to explain, a bit of insecurity – that Margaery was slowly beginning to get used to – creeping into her voice. "I knew you would be tired, and what kind of girlfriend would I be if I dragged you out exhausted, just to dance?"

Margaery still stared. Sansa had fixed dinner for her, and her stomach was still growling. Her muscles ached at the thought of falling onto the couch with Sansa in her arms – and would she ever get tired of Sansa calling herself Margaery's girlfriend? They didn't have to go out, Margaery realized. They didn't have to go out, and Sansa was here, to take care of _her_.

"But I wanted to see you, and I know you tend to avoid eating when you're busy, and so really, it wasn't all that difficult to visit a few shops and bring what I needed. Although honestly, your kitchen is quite hard to navigate for someone who is so politically-savvy and always impeccably dressed."

Margaery snorted, and Sansa grinned at her. "So I straightened it up a bit."

She had no idea why the idea of Sansa cleaning up her kitchen should make Margaery so _happy_.

"And I'm going to be insulted if you decide you'd much rather go out dancing when a better option is to… stay here with me. Dinner, dessert—"

"Lemon cakes?" Margaery smirked, and Sansa huffed at her.

"Ice cream, I'll have you know."

"Ah, ice cream. How foolish of me to assume."

"We can go dancing some other time," Sansa said, all trace of teasing gone from her voice as she regarded Margaery with such an eagerness to please. "Some other time, and tonight you can rest and have dinner with me, and I'll do anything you need, you won't even have to lift a finger."

"Sweet girl," Margaery said, closing her eyes and letting out an audible sigh of relief. She shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around Sansa's neck, burying her face in the girl's skin and breathing in fresh soap and oregano.

"You dear, darling sweet girl."

She moved to kiss Sansa, but Sansa's hands on Margaery's shoulders held her at bay. "More than enough time for that," Sansa said in response to Margaery's pout. She tugged lightly on the collar of Margaery's suit jacket, a deep wine color this time.

"Go change into something other than this."

Margaery reluctantly separated from Sansa and headed towards her bedroom. "Will you still think I'm gorgeous in sweats?" she called over her shoulder with a grin, knowing Sansa had seen her in her sweats twice before already.

The answer, when it came, was soft and clear, just as Margaery closed her bedroom door.

"I'd think you're gorgeous in anything."

Moments later Margaery emerged from her bedroom clad in her favorite pair of green sweatpants and a yellow shirt, a smile on her face as she padded into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Sansa from behind while the younger girl stood at the stove.

"Hmm, hi," Sansa said, one hand covering Margaery's as the other busied itself with stirring the pot of boiling noodles.

"Hi. So where did you learn to do all this?" The sauce was simmering and Margaery took it in, her stomach once again sounding its distress, and she blushed even as Sansa giggled. There was garlic bread still warming in the oven, she could see, salads resting in bowls on the counter, and a bucket of chilled wine waiting for them.

"Ah, well, the spaghetti? That's from mum," Sansa said, and Margaery could hear the girl smiling in affection. "As for the rest, I don't know, I just tried to think of what you might like."

Satisfied, Sansa turned off all the burners and moved so that she was stood fully in Margaery's arms.

"No wonder you're such a good student," Margaery said, and Sansa's face flushed pink.

Her lips pursed though, and before Margaery had a chance to ask what was wrong, Sansa had reached up and freed her hair from the confines of its clip, watching as the brunette's curls fell into waves over her shoulders.

"Better," Sansa said, and Margaery smiled. "Come on now, food's ready."

But Margaery had other plans, and she caught Sansa to her, holding the girl close to her chest. She thought she saw a glimpse of momentary panic crossing over Sansa's face, but it was gone when Margaery looked again.

Still, her grip softened, and she trailed a light thumb over Sansa's pulse. "You denied me a kiss earlier," she said, exaggerating her lower lip into another pout.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "So I did."

"Will you let me steal one from you now?"

It wasn't in her _nature_ to _ask_, but bloody hell if she wouldn't ask Sansa Stark for everything, especially when Sansa's green eyes glittered and she nodded.

Margaery leaned up and kissed the young woman completely for the first time that evening.

"I missed you," she said against Sansa's lips, and it scared Margaery just how much.

"I missed you, too. Will you please have dinner with me now?"

"You're very eager about this dinner, aren't you?" Margaery said, finally indulging the younger girl, and letting Sansa lead her to the table. It was true; she could tell by the way Sansa practically vibrated her excitement. Margaery wouldn't have been all that surprised if Sansa clapped her hands. The thought made her smile.

"I just want to take care of you. Oh!" Sansa said, and reached to pull out Margaery's chair.

"Allow me, my lady?"

She nearly had to grab onto the table for support; her knees became jelly and Margaery stared up at Sansa with wide eyes. There was such a smile on Sansa's face, such a hopeful smile; Margaery wanted to take that smile in her hand like a butterfly, to preserve it in all its beauty and service, so that she might look at it anytime she wanted.

She sat.

"Best be careful, I might get used to you calling me that," Margaery joked, annoyed that her voice came out sounding weak.

"Oh, really?" Sansa scooted Margaery's chair in and bent low, still stood behind her, so that her lips grazed the proud line of Margaery's jaw just below her ear.

"Is that so, my lady?"

Her mouth had gone too dry for Margaery to answer, which was just as well; Sansa hadn't waited for one, instead disappearing into the kitchen. Moments later she reappeared with a tray, and Margaery chuckled, watching the way the sometimes-awkward young woman struggled to place the bowls and plates down without spilling a drop of the food.

"This looks amazing," Margaery said, taking in the sights and smells of the dinner before her, as Sansa came back to the table with the bucket of wine, and sat down herself.

"I can't believe you did all this, just for me."

"You work so hard," Sansa said, pouring a glass of wine and handing it to Margaery, ducking her head shyly. "I just wanted you to relax."

"Well, it all looks wonderful, sweet girl, thank you," Margaery said. "And wine, too, you spoil me."

"Oh, i-it's just the cheap stuff," Sansa said, and Margaery noticed, for the first time, how when Sansa blushed, a smattering of freckles stood out on the bridge of her nose. "Just… store red wine, not the expensive stuff you're probably use—"

"Shh," Margaery said, reaching over to take Sansa's hand.

"I wouldn't care if it was just Chinese takeaway on paper plates, Sansa Stark. This means a lot to me."

But the food was much better than Chinese takeaway; as tired as she was Margaery was also ravenous, and it was as if the spaghetti had suddenly become the food of the gods. Still, she did try to be somewhat polite and pace herself, pausing to ask Sansa questions about her day and her studies in between raving about the food.

Sansa, for her part, seemingly couldn't decide if she wanted to blush or blush even redder, and at some point, Margaery realized that as much as she craved the power and notoriety of being a Tyrell, of being the granddaughter of a prime minister, sometimes it was just nice to relax at home and enjoy, well, domesticity.

"Oh, I don't think I can eat anymore," Margaery said, pushing her plate away and tossing her napkin onto the table. "I mean I have room for ice cream, and I hope there's more leftover for tomorrow, but… goodness, Sansa. If you keep feeding me like this I really will live up to my cousin's 'pig face' name."

"You could never, that's ridiculous!" Sansa laughed.

Margaery smiled, then reached out a hand to stop Sansa when the younger girl rose to collect the dishes.

"Sit down, I'll put these away and get our ice cream."

"Oh, no, I've got it, you rest. I told you, no lifting a finger."

"And I told you to sit down, Sansa." Margaery's voice was soft as she looked at her girlfriend. "You cleaned my kitchen and cooked all this wonderful food. I'll get the ice cream."

Sansa hesitated.

"Sit down, sweetheart."

When Sansa sat down, looking at the table with an unreadable expression on her face, Margaery sprang up and bent to kiss the top of her girlfriend's head.

"That's my girl, hmm?" she said gently, before starting to gather up the plates.

Only when she was in the kitchen did Margaery's hands begin to shake slightly. Sansa was so perfect, she thought to herself. So perfect, so eager to please. Margaery hadn't been lying when she'd confessed her most secret fantasy to Sansa; she'd had that one since she was thirteen years old. Not even Loras knew about it though; there were just some things even the Tyrells didn't talk about. But now, Margaery was having a devil of a time not talking about it to _someone_, especially when she was beginning to realize that the only pretty girl she wanted on her knees was the redhead currently sitting at her table.

But this was… it had only been three months. And swirling in and around and between the bright purples that Sansa Stark loved to wear and the golden red hue of her hair, there were shades of something dark. Margaery knew it in the way Sansa would pale or clam up at a word, or perhaps a memory she'd thought long buried. She could see it in the way she'd find Sansa staring at herself in the mirror, constantly adjusting her hairstyle or clothes, running a hand over her stomach.

"Oh it's n-nothing," she'd say laughingly when Margaery brought up, and would kiss her to make Margaery forget.

She hadn't forgotten.

She didn't know who he was. She didn't know his name. She only knew it was a _him_ and the shadow that would settle in Sansa's green eyes when she thought of him. And that simple knowledge alone was enough for Margaery to flex her fingers in and out, calming herself and her raging hormones and concern.

She wanted a pretty girl on her knees. She wanted _Sansa_ on her knees. But so far, having Sansa in her heart was perfectly enough.

The dishes in the washer and the mess cleaned up from the counter, Margaery looked towards the freezer and realized she was once again bone-tired.

"Darling?" she poked her head around the kitchen door.

"Yes?" Sansa was still sat at the dining table.

"Would you mind terribly if we save the ice cream for tomorrow? I want it, I do, but right now I feel as if I'd love a bath so much more."

"No, that's perfect!" Margaery fought off a laugh as Sansa jumped up, then abruptly sat right back down in her chair. "I mean I-I could get the water ready for you, if you'd like me to do that? Would you like me to do that?"

Margaery shook her head and crossed the floor back to her girlfriend, moving so that she was stood above her. She took Sansa's hands in hers and wrapped the girl's arms around her waist. "Mm," she hummed, lowering her face to Sansa's hair and just breathing the girl in.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You join me."

"What?"

"I want you near me," Margaery admitted, not sure why she felt such a sudden surge of affection for the other girl. She'd felt Sansa tense in her arms at her request, and that only made Margaery tighten her hold.

"I don't want you to run my bath and then sit out here on the couch watching stupid stories while I'm so far away." She was pouting again, but this time it was genuine, and not for effect. "You can sit on the edge of the tub or…" Margaery chose her words carefully. "Sit in the tub with me, whichever you'd like. Just be close to me, please?"

Sansa said nothing. Margaery kissed the top of her head again and moved away. "Just think about it, pet. And if the answer is no, that's all right."

_Pet_, she thought to herself as she headed for the bedroom to find some pajamas to sleep in instead of her wretched old sweats. Somehow it took on a different meaning, with Sansa. After a moment she heard Sansa's steps shuffling over the carpet and then the bathroom door open and close. The water running was a fine accompaniment to Margaery's thoughts. Surprisingly, she could also hear Sansa humming to herself, and the realization made just a little of the worry Margaery felt slide off.

Sansa liked to sing, a lot. To herself, while working on homework. On the phone, to make Margaery laugh or to put her into a deep, gorgeous lull of sappy happiness just before sleep. Or just walking down the street, a quiet song to herself with her hand held in Margaery's as they looked in all the shop windows. And maybe once or twice Margaery had pretended to be annoyed that Sansa was singing while she was trying to say something, or get work done, but that was only so she could kiss the pout away, and she was pretty sure Sansa had figured that out.

Margaery finally pulled out her favorite "comfy" pajamas for a night like this: silk green shorts, a camisole to match trimmed in black lace. Comfy could also be classy, Margaery had learned at her grandmother's knee, and was grateful that although she was born with a silver-_plated_ spoon in her mouth, she still had more than enough money to support her own style.

She wondered briefly if Sansa would like it.

She noticed the silence now filling the apartment, and Margaery took her pajamas with her and slowly opened the door to the bathroom. It was her favorite place in the whole flat, really; the small, black and white tiled room was dwarfed by the gigantic, old-fashioned claw foot tub that Olenna had insisted on buying for her when Margaery had struck out on her own. Grandmother always seemed to know, Margaery thought with a smile, taking in the water, the towels draped at the head of the tub, and…

She couldn't help but laugh. Had Sansa raided her cabinets for _all_ the shampoo and body wash? Margery counted four, five, no, _six_ bottles lining the little shelf on the wall to the left of the tub. She reached out to touch Sansa's blushing cheek.

"This one," she said, pointing to one bottle, then another in turn. "And this one." She tapped Sansa's nose with her finger.

"Thank you, for everything."

Sansa was smiling as she put away the other bottles, and Margaery took advantage of her distraction to quickly divest herself of the grubby sweat pants and tee shirt. When Sansa turned around her girlfriend was fully naked, and Margaery had to smirk at the startled look on her face.

"Help me into the tub?"

Her voice was almost a purr. She knew she was attractive; knew that Sansa knew she was attractive. Knew it by the way she saw Sansa's eyes linger occasionally on her lips, on her throat, on her breasts. And after all, they _were_ dating. One had to have a sort of "mutual attraction" thing going on for that to happen. Sansa was getting more comfortable allowing herself to flirt with Margaery; why couldn't Margaery indulge in the same?

She was _very _good.

But then something happened. It felt as if the very air had changed, from something sexually charged to… still charged, but almost _electric_.

Because Sansa Stark, alone in a closed bathroom with a completely naked Margaery Tyrell, her _girlfriend_, averted her eyes.

She knew Sansa had seen her, fully. Knew Sansa had seen the smooth skin of her throat, the swell of her hips, and the tightness of her stomach. She knew Sansa's eyes had rested briefly on the dip between her breasts, tipped by dusky nipples.

And Margaery had seen the look on her face, noticed how Sansa's chest rose and fell with each suddenly rapid breath, and she knew one thing more certainly than she ever had in her life.

Sansa wanted her.

And yet, she averted her eyes. Averted and down, and then Margaery became aware of Sansa's hand. Lifted up, extended towards her, palm out and fingers light. It was as if Sansa was a knight and Margaery was her lady; it seemed as if Sansa even _bowed_ slightly as Margaery took her hand and stepped into the tub.

Sansa wanted her, and yet wasn't looking at her. She was looking at the floor as Margaery settled into the water with a soft sigh, watching her. There was a half-smile of what looked like reverence on her face, and it caught Margaery's breath.

Once she was sitting with her back against the tub and feeling the water course over her and start to soothe her aching bones, though, Margaery saw Sansa's gaze flick down to her, uncertainly, and then around the bathroom. Margaery hadn't let go of her hand.

"Do you want to sit by the tub?" she asked casually, running her thumb over Sansa's knuckles.

Sansa nodded, and Margaery grinned.

"Well, down you go, then," she said, and the cheerfulness of her voice was enough to startle a smile out of Sansa as she knelt – not sat – knelt, by Margaery's side.

"Can I wash your hair?" Sansa asked.

"Wash my hair?"

"I used to… help Mum bathe the littler ones at home, which isn't at all like this but I just… never mind."

Margaery shook her head and kissed Sansa's hand. "I'd be delighted if you'd wash my hair." She released Sansa's hand and slipped under the water for a moment, wet haired and laughing when she came back up for air.

"You can be quite silly, you know that?" Sansa asked, handing Margaery a washcloth before grabbing up the bottle of shampoo and squirting some into her palm.

"Yes, I am utterly aware of this," Margaery said, the washcloth forgotten as she tipped her head back into Sansa's hands with another sigh. "But I have to be, if I ever have a hope of pulling you out of your serious conversations with Charles and Jane."

"They're not always serious!" Sansa snorted, lightly pushing at Margaery's head, then resuming the massages of her girlfriend's scalp. "Jane has a very wicked sense of humor."

"None so wicked as mine," Margaery said with a smirk, eager for the day when she'd be able to use that talent fully on the red haired girl knelt above her.

"I-I look forward to finding out," Sansa said, and Margaery's smirk widened.

They were quiet then, Sansa's gentle scratches and ministrations to her hair nearly putting Margaery to sleep. She washed herself absent-mindedly, caring less about dirt than she did about just relaxing, having Sansa near her.

She glanced over at the other girl, who was knelt at the side of the tub again, her chin resting on her arms crossed over the edge. Sansa was looking at her, an expression in her eyes Margaery couldn't quite place.

Margaery leaned over and softly kissed her lips. Sansa smiled.

"What is it?"

"Do… would you still like it if I… got into the bath with you?"

Pleasantly surprised, Margaery nodded. "The water's still quite warm, and it'd be lovely." Not to mention that she really, really wanted to see her girlfriend naked.

But Sansa didn't look so sure. "Well… but you have to close your eyes."

"What?"

"You have to close your eyes," Sansa said in a rush. "I can't… I don't want… you need to close your eyes."

Part of her felt insulted, because Sansa had gotten to see Margaery naked already, hadn't she? But now the insecurity and fear in Sansa's eyes was unmistakable, which made the desire to see her naked a lot less than the desire to hold the girl in her arms.

Margaery closed her eyes and settled against the tub. "There, see?"

"Are they closed?"

Margaery grinned a little; she could almost imagine Sansa waving her hand in front of her face. "They're closed, darling."

"No peeking?"

"_Sansa._"

She felt Sansa stand up, heard the rustling of fabric and Sansa's uncertain breathing. Keeping her eyes screwed shut Margaery lifted her hand out of the tub, holding it out, wet and inviting. She smiled when Sansa's fingers took hold, and the light slosh of water told her that Sansa had stepped in.

"I-I'm not sure where I'm supposed to sit?"

"Here." Margaery shifted further against the back of the tub so that she was sitting up, her legs open. "Put your back to me, all right?"

They both gasped when they were suddenly met skin to skin, Margaery's chest against Sansa's bare back. Sansa had pulled her hair into a messy bun, Margaery saw when she finally opened her eyes, and was met with nothing but a vast expanse of naked shoulder, flushed skin with light smatterings of freckles here and there.

She was trembling as Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa's stomach and pulled her impossibly closer. Margaery smiled.

"Sansa, may I ask you something?"

"You just did…"

"Oh, now who's silly?" Margaery said, giving Sansa a squeeze and softly kissing her shoulder.

"Has anyone ever seen you nude before? I mean, other than doctors and your mum."

"Can we not bring my mum into this?" Sansa said, sounding disgusted, and Margaery kissed her shoulder again with a giggle.

"Fair enough. But still…?"

"You know I've never—"

"Yes, I know you've never," Margaery intervened, deciding that she couldn't get enough of kissing Sansa's shoulders, of feeling the smooth plane of Sansa's stomach underneath her splayed fingers. "But being nude and having sex are two different things."

"I-I don't—"

She sounded vaguely panicked, and Margaery's arms tightened. "It's all right," she soothed.

There was silence save for the ticking of the small clock in one corner of the bathroom.

"Once."

"Ah." She nuzzled her chin onto Sansa's shoulder so that they were cheek to cheek; Sansa's hand found hers over her stomach, and Margaery held fast.

"It didn't go well, then."

"I'm not like you," Sansa said, and Margaery sat back a little.

"What do you mean?"

There was a mirror on the other side of the tub that Margaery had considered ghastly at the time of its installation, but that Loras had insisted was the ultimate needed accessory for a Tyrell bathroom. "Trust me, it has its advantages," he'd winked at her.

She hadn't believed him until she looked up and saw herself and Sansa reflected in it; Sansa having to curl in on herself just a bit so that her gorgeous long legs could fold into the tub with both of them, and Margaery with wet curls plastered to her forehead and her mouth seemingly glued to Sansa's skin. Green eyes and blue, red hair and brown, mirror images staring back at them and though the water obstructed most of her view, Margaery thought she hadn't seen anything more beautiful than Sansa Stark.

"I'm not… pretty," Sansa said in what nearly sounded like a burst of anger, startling Margaery from speech. "You're… little and light on your feet. Classy. Your hair is wonderful and your face… you have a face people sing songs about, Margaery."

"You should sing me one, then," Margaery suggested, having taken to running her hands warmly down Sansa's arms.

Sansa huffed a little in amusement, but said nothing.

Margaery let them sit in silence for a few more moments. "What did he say to you?"

Sansa sighed heavily. "I'm meant to be taking care of you."

"We're meant," Margaery said, gesturing at Sansa in the mirror, "to be taking care of each other."

Sansa considered this. "He said—"

Margaery resumed her gentle kisses, making sure no inch of skin on Sansa's shoulders was left uncovered.

"He said that he couldn't understand why fate brought him a two when he deserved a ten."

Margaery scoffed, barely able to keep from leaping out of the tub and calling her grandmother to find out the boy's address. Not that Olenna would give it to her, but still. "Idiot," she muttered, nuzzling into Sansa's ear.

"It wasn't anything I didn't already know," Sansa shrugged. "He 'liked my face pretty,' he'd say, but what good is that when you want to be graceful and beautiful, like you, and instead you're just… me."

"Hey, hey, shhh," Margaery soothed, and tipped Sansa's face towards her with her hand so they could kiss.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"A secret?"

"That no one else knows." She smiled down at Sansa, who was staring curiously at her in the mirror.

"Do you remember our blind date?" Margaery laughed when Sansa grinned and bit her lip.

"Very much so, _Loras_."

"Shae hadn't told Loras much about you, and so he couldn't tell _me_ anything other than 'Look for a redhead girl with a book.'"

"That's definitely me," Sansa agreed.

"That's definitely you. And so I drove to the restaurant all the while cursing my incredibly loved but also incredibly thick in the head brother. Completely exhausted and hungry, and asking myself is there no end to what I have to do for this family?"

She was teasing, and Margaery placed a finger over Sansa's lips when she started to protest.

She thought back to that night, at just how tired she had been, and angry at her brother for putting her into that predicament. Loras was her closest confidante but it seemed that he was more into loving and bedding Renly than he was into helping her and preserving the family. It felt as if, sometimes, the only Tyrell shoulders bearing most of the burden, other than that of her grandmother, were Margaery's.

She'd been irritated, and tired, and her mind was thinking of nothing but the letters she needed to answer when she got back to her flat. Her empty flat with no dog or cat, just some music playing on the stereo and the granddaughter of a prime minister falling asleep on her couch in grubby sweats.

"But then I came up to the restaurant and I was looking in all the windows, and I got to the last one. And Shae was right, she definitely was a redhead. Hair as bright as the sun, and I remember thinking, 'Why does a girl with such colorful hair look so sad'?"

It had been her plan to just go inside the restaurant, offer a hasty apology, and leave. But Margaery had stood unnoticed a few feet away from the window, watching the sad young girl and her book.

"It took me a while to get up the courage to come inside," Margaery said thoughtfully, chin once again resting on Sansa's shoulder. The water around them was getting colder; it would be time to get out soon, but not just yet.

"In fact once I actually walked away and started to leave."

"Oh," Sansa said. Her voice was small, and Margaery shook her head.

"You remember the rose, right?"

"It was beautiful."

"They were growing in a little bunch a few steps away from the restaurant. I stopped to look at them and well. I picked one and came back to you."

"Why did you want to leave? Why did you come back?"

Margaery nudged gently for Sansa to get to her feet. She did so, and this time, Margaery didn't close her eyes. Sansa was staring down at her nervously, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she extended her hand to help Margaery up.

But Margaery didn't take Sansa's hand, preferring to pull herself up into a kneeling position. She slid her hands up the slick wetness of Sansa's thighs, smiling a little when she heard the other girl gasp. She kissed the expanse of Sansa's stomach reverently, tracing her mouth higher and higher, stomach, chest, in between her breasts, her shoulder, her neck, until finally Margaery was standing face to face with Sansa.

She reached out and took a towel down from the rack, wrapping it around them both and pulling Sansa into her arms.

"I was glad that Loras couldn't come," she explained quietly. "I took one look at you and thanked every god that probably doesn't even exist because I wanted you for myself."

Sansa's eyes widened, and a dimple creased Margaery's cheek. "You are beautiful, Sansa," she said, kissing her. "And I was a bit stupid because I thought how could someone as lovely as you possibly want a date with someone as uninteresting as me?"

"Well, that's dumb," Sansa retorted, and Margaery laughed.

"Believe me, I know. And I think it's turned out rather well, don't you? Despite us being two completely ridiculous women, and—"Margaery grew serious.

"Despite a boy who doesn't even realize that he's the two, and you were the ten."

Margaery deftly unstopped the tub with her foot, watching for any sign of discomfort or upset in Sansa's face. But slowly, green eyes lighting up and freckles sparking on her cheek, Sansa smiled. Margaery smiled back and wrapped the towel tighter around them, lifting her face to receive Sansa's kiss.

The water in the tub drained long before they stopped.

The next morning Margaery's alarm blared loud and insistent at five a.m. Tucked in as the little spoon, Sansa whined at her side and Margaery pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. They'd fallen asleep shortly after midnight, despite Sansa having asked if they were going to "end the night with a bang." Margaery had unceremoniously shoved her onto the bed and was startled when Sansa had curled into her quickly, jeans and tee shirt having been replaced with KLU sweats and a tank top.

There'd be more than enough time for them to learn other things about each other, Margaery had thought. She planned on memorizing Sansa's body every chance she got, but… She'd held Sansa in her arms, and Sansa had sung them both to sleep.

Margaery reached over to slap her alarm quiet, knocking her phone off the table in the process. She grumbled and scooted closer to her girlfriend.

"Sansa?"

"Yes, my lady?" Margaery smiled at the sleepy, half-mumbled response.

"I really am going to get used to that," she remarked.

"Mmhmm. Good."

"Yes, good." She kissed Sansa's cheek, breathed in her hair, and linked their fingers together over Sansa's stomach.

"You all right, Margaery?"

"Yeah," Margaery said. "Yeah, more than all right, pet. I just… wanted to be sure of you."

"Hmm." Sansa snored a little, then, "Are you sure of me?"

Her phone was off, Sansa was in her arms.

Her chest rising and falling in deep sleep, Margaery didn't answer.


End file.
